🅹🆄🅳🅶🅴 ⁽ᵃᵖ⁾

               >> 🌻 <<                     ❝       mmm    . .    can we get    ICE CREAM   ??       ❞         it’s a ploy,   really.    she just    wants    to spend more time with matt.   it doesn’t happen very often considering he’s working    QUITE A BIT    lately.

@mrdcktm​ gets this uwu   !!  

      With  one  earphone  down  just  in  case  work  distracts  him  too  much  from  other  important  matters,   Matthew  leans  back  into  the  couch  and  exhales;   unknowingly  holding  breath  from  great  concentration  in  combing  anything  he  can  use  in  the  mountains  of  paperwork  before  him,   seated  on  his  coffee  table.

Elektra doesn’t respond, she barely thinks it is meant for her, probably one of Matt’s thinking out loud moments but she still thinks about it, her head rested over his shoulder, fingertips drawing circles above his ribs. The night is quiet, and since they don’t tend to have a lot of that silence and peace, Elektra does her best to make the most of it, make it linger as much as she can. “ Do you think it is out of fear?” She hums, her eyes fluttering open. “ I think it is out of shame. If I was god, and I’d create a world so broken it is full of hatred, full of anger, full of people dying for nothing, I would want to vanish. Disappear. Maybe that’s what he did.”

     That’s  exactly  what  Matthew  had  done.

      But  instead  of  shame  for  his  disappearance,   it  was  𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑   twisting  his  insides  and  pulling  out  the  last  bits  of  sympathy  for  oneself;   it  was   𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋   of  him  to  decide  casting  away  the  parts  of  him  that  engaged  with  the  world  and  God  himself.    Then  here  she  is   —— a  sign  of  the  times.

                   ❛      𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧𝘧.   𝘛𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵    - -  𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.      ❜           He  chimes  in,   feeding  fever  dreams  of  nights  that  could  have  been.    Disregarding  the  sounds  of  hundreds  of  men  catching  up  to  them  to  the  rooftop  that  night,  and  associating  her  warmth  in  the  moment  as  his  PRESENT.    Hand  travels  to  cradle  her  head,  fingers  threading  downwards  her  hair.   Matt  always  liked  her  long,  smooth  hair.

“You know me, Murdock. Fortune favors the bold.” Oh god she wants to just wring his neck sometimes. But that’s not what she does. Ghost-Spider doesn’t kill, even though her symbiote wants to sometimes. “You probably think that the other guy is. Already sold your soul to him, huh?”

                   ❛      𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘪𝘪,  𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦.      ❜           An  innocent  remark,   nudging  the  child  to  see  the  gaps  between  them   - -  even  if  Matthew  has  to   𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄   considerably  at  the  moment.

                   𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑺 𝑰𝑵 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝒀𝑶𝑹𝑲 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑶𝑪𝑪𝑼𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮.   it had only meant to be temporary, as her unorthodox occupation brings her to a vast variety of places and more often than naught at a moment’s notice. an obvious and NOTICEABLE PATTERN  ━━━  something always brings her back to hell’s kitchen, as if her fate was tied there. for a witch, she didn’t believe in such trivial matters. she has learned a long time ago that she would not let HER LIFE BE DECIDED for her, a small promise she made upon her curse.

                    ❛  try not to overwork yourself, love.  ❜  the redhead tells him. ❛  you remember that ?  ❜  she asks, head tilted to the side curiously. such a little detail, she finds it a nice thought. ❛  aye, i think i’ll be sticking around a little longer… unfortunately for you.  ❜  she says jokingly.

      Remembering  the  breathing  patterns  of  the  city  under  his  feet  and  the  way  her  fingertips  soothe  scalp  during  the  last  time  they  spoke  and  Matthew  unfortunately  passed  out.   Remembering  the  small  talks  and  ridiculous  bets  and  nights  of  wild  laughter  and  ━━    how  such  memories   𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠   even  if  Scarlett  did  not  seem  to  be  sincerely  apologising  at  all.

“Friends aren’t supposed to spend every hour of the day together. That’s unhealthy.” What’s his plan here? He must be trying to get under her skin, to get her to admit more than she wants to. No. She’s smart enough not to play into his hands. She lowers her arms, folding them behind her back and taking a deep breath, calming herself. “Though you wouldn’t know that. I’m sure you don’t have any actual friends. That means people who aren’t on your payroll. People who aren’t terrified of you.” She actually smiles behind her mask. She’s doing well.

“Fine. I guess you win. I don’t have any clothes with me though.” Another deep breath. Keep calm. Keep neutral. Don’t give anything away. “I guess you’re talking about some kind of fancy restaurant, right?”

      Delight  surpasses  own  sourness  from  bitter  reception  received  from  the  other  end,   laughing  when  the  words  he  know  despises  her  so  much  tumbles  out  reluctantly  and  gracelessly  from  beneath  the  mask.   How  first  grader  of  her  to  attempt  to  even  irritate  him.

                     ❛   𝘼𝙙𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨   ——  𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 ?   ❜          A  sharpness  to  his  tone  contrasts  the  light  teasing  with  his  head  tilting  curiously.    It  was  a  𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 ;    for  Matthew  knows  that  the  game  will  be  over  if  business  has  gone  personal  and  personal  ties  are  usually  extinguished  - -   as  the  way  of  his  people.

      The  man  disregards  the  shooters  though  he  is  posed  for  any  presence  of  hostility  should  it  arise.   He  walks  away  from  the  Spider,   a  hand  in  his  pocket  while  the  other  rests  the  stick  against  his  collarbone.   Deciding  to  ignore  her  unnecessary  comment  about  unnecessary  things  and  giving  her  an  ambiguous,  nonchalant  response,   Matthew  waves  a  hand  to  beckon  her  follow  down  to   the  penthouse,   since  the  building  is  his  anyway.          ❛   𝘏𝘮𝘮,  𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.   𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯,  𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥'𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.   ❜ 

                        P A R K O U R  !!

Oh,  he’s a menace in flesh,  a complication she did not really expect.   And she’s known to expect EVERYTHING.   He rolls along the corridor like thunder,  even Natasha can hear bodies dropping where he goes;  maybe he will be a perfect distraction of this grand scheme fuelled by her treacherous heart  —  get the kid out of there;  answer questions later.   And no one casts her as much as a second look as she slithers in the darkness with such a small hand in her’s.   She’s either earned their trust or,  them being typical Russians,  they…   Don’t really care.

                     And she doesn’t really care to find out which option it is.   Must be the Russian in her.

Freedom she can taste on the tip of her tongue,  ever an elusive subject,  but,  just as always,  it’s but a bit out of reach.   He sought her out,  CURIOUS,  she was as silent as shadows are,  but…   It is a question for another time. 

“Go hide,”     she whispers,  the kid obliges.     “I’ll find you.”

The Devil will not make a liar out of her;  she’s more than capable of turning herself into one without his help.     “I did.”     This time it’s mean for him as she turns around to face the man,  voice clear of any traces of accent she wore as a camouflage when working with the mob.   Cat-like steps are taken,  light and soundless,  but she doesn’t come closer to him yet.     “So what now?”

      Straining  ears  to  reconfirm  silk  voice  instead  of  expectant  gruffy,  heavy  tones  - -    the  Devil’s  thoughts  reorganise  to  add  recent  knowledge  that  he  hasn’t  before :    they  also  hire  women.    Silence  for  a  moment  ensue,   observing  changes  in  flux  and  atmosphere;   almost  as  if  ...    she’s  waiting,   calculating.

      Unlike  most  of  her  colleagues  eager  to  get  their  hands  of  his  blood  the  moment  they  saw  him  comin’  up  from  the  shadows,   she’s  clever.    And  capable  enough  to  create  mind  games  that  even  a  child  will  believe  honestly  without  fault.    The  pretence  of  the  assurance  is  sickening,   considering  what  the  Russians  do  to  make  name  and  fame  under  Manhattan’s  black  market  circles   - -   under  Fisk’s  protection.

                    ❛    𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙮  ――   𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 ?    ❜          Suppose  he  can  make  brief  assessment  for  a  minute,   as  multi-tasking  comes  to  play  in  attempting  to  track  the  child’s  pace   - -    tap,  tap,  tap   - -    in  another  room  and  making  sure  there’s  no  innocent  witness  to  collecting  the  Devil’s  due.

                       ❛      𝐈'𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘.    𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬,  𝘐'𝘮 - -  𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩  ...     𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙡𝙡 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣 ... !!     ❜